


dreamcatcher boy

by johnnyfucksup



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not rly tho, With an happy ending, kind of, more of an insight, not really a fix it, slight angst, slight gay panic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24632002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnyfucksup/pseuds/johnnyfucksup
Summary: It all started with that tattoo. That damn dreamcatcher tattoo with a compass instead of a net King had seen through old books in the old school library.
Relationships: King/Ram (My Engineer)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 179
Collections: T/CBL





	dreamcatcher boy

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back motherfuckers, and nobody's safe.  
> (ramking deserves more fucking fics, and i love everyone who is providing. now you've got me, too, and i be spamming like i'm spamming youtube with my shitty edits of them)

King didn’t know when it started, or how. 

(Well. Actually, he knew _exactly_ when it started, or how, remembering as if it had been yesterday.)

xx. 

It all started with that tattoo. 

That _damn_ dreamcatcher tattoo with a compass instead of a net King had seen through old books in the old school library. 

It hadn’t only been the tattoo that had caught King’s curious eyes, though. The tattoo had only functioned as a trigger of some sort, as King’s gaze had wandered upwards pretty quickly, up that pretty neck the tattoo rested on, and had landed on the face of the boy.

A pretty neck, a jawline that could’ve cut glass, concentrated eyes, slightly furrowed eyebrows, dark hair. 

Dreamcatcher boy had stood in between the old shelves, filled with even older books, head tilted down to read whatever he had been reading, and King’s breath had caught in his throat. 

Dust, only visible because of the thick sunlight shining through dirty windows, had danced around that boy with that dreamcatcher tattoo.

Dust shouldn’t make things look pretty, but that day, it did. 

King had stared, and stared, and stared, through old books in the old school library, only a single shelf between him and that boy. Only one shelf filled with those dusting books, but it had felt like a wall, securing King, hiding him and his curious eyes.

The spell had been broken when dreamcatcher boy seemed to feel the intense gaze directed at him – how could he not have noticed, King’s stare had almost cut through the air –, and had started to turn his head to his left. Kind had swiftly turned away, heart beating hard in his ribcage. 

How dreamcatcher boy had known exactly where the stare was coming from, King hadn’t known, relieved at not being caught staring.

So, that was when it had all started. 

That damn tattoo on that damn neck of that damn boy. 

xx. 

Dreamcatcher boy was a junior and apparently studied in the same faculty, could speak Thai (but wouldn’t speak to King), and always fed the campus dog (he would speak to the dog, which King tried and failed not to be offended by).

xx. 

Dreamcatcher boy’s name actually was Ram (after a quick google search, King found that it meant beautiful, which, to be honest, couldn’t be a better name for the always glaring, stone-faced, beautiful boy).

Dreamcatcher boy also wouldn’t talk to people he didn’t know, not really socialising even with his friends, so King decided on changing that behaviour. Decided to get close to that strange junior of his, to get him out of his shell, to get him to talk with him. (This decision, of course, was completely unrelated to the sudden breathlessness King felt anytime he only laid eyes on Ram.)

King started _Mission Dreamcatcher Boy_ , as he liked to call it in his head, with calling Ram Ai’Ning, Cool Boy, as Ram never officially introduced himself to King. 

xx. 

Ram still wouldn’t talk to him, but he let King help him with homework, he let King ramble and ask irrelevant yes-or-no-questions, so Ram didn’t need to talk, not verbally, anyways; just nodding or shaking his head, or sometimes, when King was lucky, he’d get a raised eyebrow or squinted eyes or a scowl or a _look_ that always meant something different.

King didn’t mind not being talked to, as he did receive answers and replies in the most subtle and silent ways. 

xx. 

To King’s surprise – and delight –, dreamcatcher boy did not only converse silently with his eyes, he apparently also spoke with his hands. 

King didn’t know why Ram started the habit of grabbing his arm to drag him around, but he sure as hell didn’t mind, either. 

xx. 

And then, Ram started texting and actually responding to King’s never-ending questions and messages and stickers and emojis (mostly intended to annoy the shit out of Ram to get him to talk to him in one way or another), actually replying with words, though unspoken ones. 

King tried – and failed – to ignore his thrumming heartbeat every time he saw _dreamcatcher boy_ on his phone screen.

xx.

Nobody cared about his tiny obsession with his junior. 

(King could allow himself in the solitude of his mind to admit that, yes, it was an obsession, since day one.)

And even if somebody cared, nobody would ask.

xx.

Maybe his tiny obsession wasn’t as tiny as he had tried to tell himself. 

When Ram spoke for the very first time in that bus, sitting right beside him, King’s heart had almost stopped. 

He had heard Ram’s voice before, of course, when he was talking to his friends, but he had never used that light and casual and slightly curious tone before, especially not directed towards King, when he asked if King wanted to get a tattoo. 

King pointedly ignored his near-death-experience, and tried to overplay his nervousness and excitement through rambling, like he always did. 

(If he noticed how lightheaded he felt for the rest of the day, he ignored it, too.)

xx. 

Somewhere in between standing under an umbrella together, listening music on a rainy day in a bus together, sitting and studying and eating together, and conversations only held with eyes, hands grabbing wrists, no words spoken, no questions asked, only touching, pulling, dragging – somewhere in between all those moments and small rituals and habits, King settled in. 

He didn’t even think about it, he just settled right in, settled into the comfort, into the warmness.

It was stupid, and dangerous, to get used to Ram’s presence like he’d been there, at King’s side and in King’s life and in King’s thoughts and in King’s heart, all along. 

It was stupid, and dangerous, and it was way too late to realize that now. 

King settled in, somewhere in between all those moments they had shared over the past weeks, he was in too deep already. 

(Not that King hadn’t seen the warnings and as if he hadn’t heard the alarm bells ringing, and as if he hadn’t just ignored it altogether.)

xx. 

One day, as King watched his dreamcatcher boy – well, not his, but Ram – doing homework, writing with that silly pencil King had crafted with the little things he had, _something_ overflowed and knocked the air right out of his lungs. 

xx.

King thought he knew when it all started. 

And maybe he really did know when his strange and unusual interest in that strange and unusual boy with that dreamcatcher tattoo with a compass instead of a net started. 

But King didn’t know when his interest turned into something serious, into something heavy, into something painful. 

Or maybe he did know, but rejected the idea. Rejected, pushed down, shoved away, ignored. 

Maybe King really didn’t know _when_ , and _how_ , and _where_ it happened. 

(No, King didn’t really know , _when_ , and _how_ , and _where_ , he only knew that slowly, _slowly_ , he fell.)

xx.

Falling for dreamcatcher boy, Ai’Ning, _Ram_ was easy. 

Ram made it all too easy for King to let himself be pulled and grabbed and dragged along, to settle down, to settle in, in between their shared moments, to let himself relax, to feel comfortable, to feel content and exited and _scared shitless_ , and breathless, and larger than life itself – 

xx.

If Ram didn’t pull away, if he didn’t back up, King would have a problem.

(King already had a problem. He didn’t want Ram to pull away, to back up, but he _needed_ Ram to.)

(Before King could fall even harder.)

(Before King couldn’t let go anymore.)

xx. 

Somewhere along the way, King couldn’t pin the exact moment, because there were _too many_ , all the moments muddled together, only blurry lines separating them, _something_ started to rise to the surface. 

Something King had never experienced before, but he knew all too well what it was. 

All those feelings for Ram, all those soft and tender feelings, sweet and way too deep, protective and slightly possessive, all those feelings turned ugly.

He no longer felt content and happy and comfortable and warm around Ram. He felt ashamed and guilty and _hot_ every time Ram all but looked in his direction. 

He could feel blood shoot up his face, the hair on his neck and arms stand, goosebumps spreading all over his skin. The urge to reach out, to touch, to caress, to pat, to just _feel_ everything, anything, that he could get. 

King felt disgusting. 

It scared him. 

It scared him so much, it made him push Ram away. 

xx. 

King was hurting. 

It hurt, staying away from Ram when he didn’t even want to, it was almost ripping him apart. 

Every time when he pushed Ram’s hand away, his care and his worry, something broke in him. 

Every time when he couldn’t help himself but seek out Ram with his gaze and catching him already looking at him, confusion clear on his face, King wanted to scream and punch himself in the face for hurting Ram. He didn’t, though, he would just avert his eyes, turn around, look away. 

It was the least he could do for Ram. 

(No, that wasn’t true. It was the least King could do for himself, hurting before getting hurt, because he was a _coward_ , and he knew that.) 

xx. 

King should’ve known from the beginning that it wouldn’t work. It was too late for him to push Ram away now. 

Especially because Ram would not let him. 

xx. 

“I won’t leave until you tell me why.”

They were facing each other – as much as King tried to avoid meeting Ram’s eyes, after shouting and screaming, after pushing him away physically, after Ram had carried his drunken ass back to their tent. 

King knew there was no way out. There was no explanation, no excuse, no saving himself. 

He shitfaced and dizzy and _hurting_ , and he had Ram right in front of him. Much too close due to the small space provided, but still too far away; only an armlength between them but it felt simultaneously like an ocean and a hair width. 

Ram, beautiful, sweet Ram, trying to keep his posture upright, trying to appear strong and big and secure, but his shoulders were hanging low, and his beautiful face was pained and guarded.

King hated it. He hated the situation, he hated Ram for still trying _so fucking hard_ , hated this camping trip, hated himself. 

Maybe it was that hatred, or maybe it was the alcohol, or the pain itself which lead King to break, _(It hurts. I’m hurting!)_ , maybe it were Ram’s pleading and confused eyes _(Because of me?)_ to scream how he felt _(Because you make me feel good.)_ , to reveal what he tried to bury and lock away all this time _(Do you know how hard I have to hold myself back around you?)_ , while he was still pushing at Ram’s chest _(That’s the reason. That’s why. Are you happy?)_ , still hoping to chase him out _(Are you happy now?)_ , still hoping that Ram would just _leave_ , but Ram got back up – 

Ram, Ram, always sweet and caring Ram, who would get into a fistfight with the person who wanted to date his best friend, who would feed the campus dog, who would only cry in front of King, who would try everything to protect his brother and his mother, and who would let King dig his nails into his hand, who would wake up when King was in pain, who wouldn’t talk much but still say the sweetest words _(The person who understands me is you.)(It’s very important to me.)(Why?)(I won’t leave until you tell me why.)_ –

King grabbed the back of Ram’s neck, and –

King was angry. 

He was angry at Ram for not leaving, and for not pushing him away and being nice and kind and sweet all the time. He was angry at himself for not holding back, but giving in and tightening his grip at Ram’s neck. And he was angry that the kiss was hard and not soft and loving like Ram deserved. 

He was angry that he was crying.

Then he felt hands at his face, and he was crying for a whole different reason. 

Ram actually had the nerve to cup his face, carefully, tenderly, _caressing_ his cheekbones with his thumbs, and wiping away a wet streak of tears, while _kissing back_.

Not only was Ram holding onto his face like dear life, and not only was he kissing back, he also shifted, tilted his head, pulled at the soft hair at King’s neck and –

King had to pull back. It all was too much. The proximity, the kiss, Ram’s hot breath he could feel on his face, the burning feeling of Ram’s hands on his face and neck, the dizziness of the alcohol. 

Ram didn’t let go, though. He did let King pull back from the kiss, let King quietly sob and catch his breath and whisper apologies against his lips, but he never let go of King. 

King barely realized that his tears were drying and were not followed by new ones, when Ram leaned back in, tilting his head to the other side.

King barely realized anything else that wasn’t Ram’s mouth, Ram’s hands, Ram’s breath, anything but _Ram_. 

They would have to have some conversations about this, but not now. 

(Ram would later ask why King had kissed and sucked and nibbled at his dreamcatcher tattoo that night. It would be the first time that Ram would be the one left without any response.)


End file.
